


Giving Thanks

by hapakitsune



Series: Winter at Samwell [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Families of Choice, Food, Gen, Snow, Thanksgiving, Thanksgiving Dinner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-27 12:52:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2693681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hapakitsune/pseuds/hapakitsune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s American Thanksgiving, and the whole Haus smells like turkey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Giving Thanks

**Author's Note:**

> I had a deep need to write about Thanksgiving and stuff. I want to write about Winter Screw too! But that's a different story.

It’s American Thanksgiving, and the whole Haus smells like turkey. Jack lies in bed for a good five minutes, just breathing it in, and is briefly nostalgic for home when he’d hear his mother and father speaking French downstairs and his mother laughing at his father for messing up boiling the potatoes. _How do you mess up boiling potatoes, Robert?_ She always calls him Robert when she’s laughing at him.

From here, he can hear Bitty singing – Rihanna, he thinks? He’s pretty sure Bitty made him watch the music video – and he knows that Bitty is dancing around the kitchen, mixing bowl in his arms. He’s walked in on that enough times to know. He could stand to see it again, though, and he sits up, stretching his arms over his head before swinging his legs over the side of the bed and padding downstairs in his pajamas. 

Just as he thought, Bitty is swaying around the kitchen, a bowl in his hand as he stirs vigorously. One thing Jack has learned is that despite how scrawny Bitty seems, he has surprisingly good upper arm strength. Jack privately suspects years of mixing dough and batter is responsible. Bitty strikes a pose and uses the handle of his spoon as an imaginary microphone as he belts out, “We found love in a hopeless place!” Honestly, if Bitty ever found himself in need of a career, he might do pretty well on American Idol.

Jack claps when Bitty stops singing, and Bitty whirls around with a loud yelp. When he sees who it is, Bitty clutches at his chest and gasps, “Jack, you nearly gave me a heart attack!”

“Sorry,” Jack says, coming up to the counter to survey the dishes neatly lined up. “I heard you singing from upstairs.”

“Oh, I hope I didn’t wake you,” Bitty says, setting his bowl down beside the sink. “We still have hours before supper, you know.”

“It’s okay, I’m not good at sleeping late anyway.” Jack lifts up the glass top of one of the dishes and finds it filled with Brussel sprouts. “Do you need any help? This seems to be a lot of work.”

“ _Please_ ,” Bitty scoffs, turning to the oven. “I once baked a thousand mini-pies for the school bake sale. By myself, in four hours.” 

“Still.” Jack moves to look over Bitty’s shoulder at the turkey. Bitty smells like cinnamon and cloves, like always, as though he rolled in pie crust before getting dressed in the morning. “I don’t want you to have to do all the work.”

“Well,” Bitty says slowly, “I suppose you can help me with the green beans.”

Ten minutes later, Jack is working his way through the giant bag of green beans Bitty had plopped in his lap, snapping off the ends and then snapping them in half, just like Bitty had shown him. The rest of the team seem to have turned on something in the living room and are yelling indiscriminately. Jack is glad to be in the kitchen with Bitty, who is now humming Christmas carols but is much more peaceful to be around than the rest of the team. 

“So what is Canadian Thanksgiving like?” Bitty asks him after a while. He’s cutting up apples with the kind of precision Jack associates with making hockey plays, and he wonders absently if he could make that analogy during practice to help Bitty. “Do you do the same kind of thing?”

“More or less,” Jack says. “It isn’t such a big holiday for French-Canadians, but my mom always liked the idea of it. And she likes showing off her cooking because people never used to think she could cook.”

“Guess we know where your stubbornness comes from,” Bitty says with a sly smile. Jack throws the end of a green bean at him.

Bitty bosses Jack around the kitchen for the next hour, telling him to chop this, mix that, put that in the oven, can you reach that glass for me? Jack feels like he should mind, but really he’s just happy to be useful. When Dex shows up, Bitty shoos Jack from the kitchen and tells him to go relax already, Zimmermann. Jack feels a little offended, but then he had almost cut himself while peeling potatoes, so maybe Bitty has a point. He feels a whole new level of empathy for his father. 

He joins the rest of the team in the living room, perching on the edge of the couch next to Ransom and snagging himself a soda. Ransom hits him in the thigh and says, “Dude, Jack.” 

“What?” Jack asks, glancing down at him. 

“Dude, I got you a date to Screw,” Ransom says. “I mean, it’s not exactly like – it’s Melanie Cartwright, you know, from the –”

“Tennis team, yeah,” Jack says. “I took her last year.”

“ _Exactly_ ,” Ransom says. “And she doesn’t totally hate you, so that’s a novelty, right?”

“Girls don’t hate me,” Jack says. “I’m nice.”

“Yeah, and then you never call them again,” Ransom says. “You’re luck you’ve got those beautiful blue eyes –”

“And those cheekbones,” Holster cuts in. 

“And that ass!” they sing together before turning to each other for a high-five. Jack sighs and slides down to shove Ransom over, squeezing in beside him. From the ugly plaid armchair to his right, Lardo eyes him beadily. She’s probably going to report the whole conversation back to Shitty, who will give Jack more of those looks that say _, you’re allowed to have fun and date, you know_ every time Jack is even remotely near an attractive and available person. 

“So who’s playing?” he asks to distract them, and he lets them argue over which football team they should be supporting so they don’t start talking about his ass again. 

Jack goes up to change clothes, as per Bitty’s stipulations, a little before four p.m. He had checked with him the night before, asked if his button-down and tie were all right. Bitty had circled him thoughtfully before nodding his approval and then suggested he wear a sweater, too. “To complete the look,” Bitty said. 

“Why, Jack Zimmermann,” Lardo says when he comes downstairs, “you almost look like a gentleman.” 

“I try,” Jack says dryly. Bitty sets a giant tray of cheese and crackers and vegetables on the coffee table, moving aside the stray beers and glasses to make room. He’s changed clothes too, into a dark blue sweater and dark pants. Jack wants to make a joke about Halloween and Bitty’s dress, maybe, ask if he still has the corset or wig. But when he tries to say something, all he can think of is how tiny Bitty had seemed beside him when they took their picture together, and how as the night went on, Bitty’s face had grown more flushed, and Shitty kept making worse and worse _Is that a rolling pin in your pocket?_ jokes.

“How much food did you make, Bittle?” he asks instead. “Enough for a small army?”

“What do you think a group of hockey players _is_?” Bitty asks, which is a fair point.

“Does anyone want wine?” Dex asks, poking his head from the kitchen and lifting two bottles, one white, one red. 

“Wine?” Ransom asks in disbelief, reaching to swat at Bitty’s leg. “Really?”

“Tonight we are going to be elegant and classy gentlemen,” Bitty says. “And lady,” he adds, nodding at Lardo, who lifts her beer in salute. 

Around five, everyone who hasn’t changed clothes yet disappears to put on their ties and sweaters. Jack has to admit they all clean up pretty nice. And yeah, Chowder may be wearing Sharks socks, but at least he’s wearing a nice sweater and shirt. Bitty practically claps with joy at the sight of all of them and makes them squeeze together for a picture. Jack gets some of Lardo’s hair in his mouth, and in the photo he’s laughing as he tries to spit it out. Bitty immediately makes the photos his phone background. 

“Come on, the food’s getting cold,” Bitty says, as if he wasn’t the one to delay them in the first place. “And we better all say what we’re thankful for.”

“Bitty,” half the room groans in unison. 

“Now, now,” Bitty says, “this is what the holiday should be about. Friends and family and thanks. Now go, sit.”

Jack sits at the head of the table at Ransom and Holster’s urging, feeling distinctly uncomfortable as he does. Bitty beams at him from the other end and says, “Jack, do you want to start?”

“Start?” Jack asks, eyes widening. “I – what?”

“Say what you’re thankful for,” Bitty says patiently. 

Everyone turns to look at Jack expectantly. Lardo looks amused, but then she usually does. Ransom and Holster are eager, eyes wide and already grinning. And at the other end of the table, Bitty is smiling at him with that bright, fond look in his eyes that he turns on Jack every so often. Jack hates that look. Bitty seems to think that Jack can carry the world on his shoulders, even when Jack lets him down. And Jack lets him down all the time, he knows he does. 

“I, uh,” Jack starts, stalling. “I’m thankful for my friends. My team – you guys, I guess. And, uh, I’m thankful we’re going to win tomorrow. As long as Chowder doesn’t eat too much turkey.”

Chowder squawks indignantly. Under the table, Lardo kicks him hard. Jack smiles and ducks his head. 

They go around the table, most of them saying pretty similar things to Jack. Chowder gets really choked up and emotional about Joe Thornton and Samwell. Lardo drawls that she’s grateful that no one has vomited on her this year – yet. And Bitty – 

“Gosh, this has just been such a weird – but good! – year,” Bitty says, hand to his chest. “I’m just so grateful for y’all and how kind you have been. I know it must have been weird, me turning up here like I did, but everyone has been so welcoming.” His eyes cut to Jack for an instant before he looks away. “And I’ve had so much fun being one of you. I want to thank you for that.” He fans his face for a moment and then beams again. “Okay, enough of that – let’s eat!”

It’s a veritable feast: spinach salad, green beans with almonds, Brussel sprouts, mashed potatoes, cornbread stuffing, cranberry sauce, pasta salad, sweet potato casserole, an overflowing basket of golden bread rolls, gravy, a huge platter of turkey and another dish of tofurkey for the vegetarians. Jack’s plate is piled sky high by the time he’s gotten a little bit of everything, and he applies himself to it with gusto. And lord, he knew Bitty was a good baker, but this is something else. 

“This is amazing,” he says once he swallows a mouthful of sweet potato casserole. He is definitely going to regret this during practice, but he can’t bring himself to eat less.

“Why thank you, Jack,” Bitty says. “You did help, you know.”

“What did Jack ‘help’ on, because I’m going to avoid it,” Holster says, as he lifts a forkful of green beans to his mouth. 

“Well, the beans,” Bitty says. Holster spits out his mouthful. “He only helped trim them!”

“Look, we all love our captain,” Holster says, “but are you _sure_ he couldn’t have messed them up?”

“One hundred percent,” Bitty says firmly. 

By the time he clears his plate, Jack feels fuller than he has in probably years. He leans back, stretching, and sighs. At the other end of the table, Bitty is talking energetically about figure skating to the frogs. Lardo pokes Jack in the calf again and gives him a look. 

“Yeah,” he says, “I wish Shitty were here too.”

“That’s not what –” Lardo shakes her head. “I know you and Bitty have had your issues, but did we do anything like this last year? Or the year before?”

“No,” Jack says. “What’s your point?”

“My point is that this is the most cohesive this team has been since I started here, and I think it’s because of Bitty,” she says. “Or – not just because of him, you’ve loosened up a lot too, but that, I think, is a little because of him, too. Am I wrong?”

“We are better,” Jack acknowledges. “I don’t know about the rest of it.”

“Okay,” Lardo says. “But I’m right.”

Jack tries smiling, brushing it off, but he’s thinking about it: thinking about how Bitty encourages team get-togethers and cooks “family” meals from time to time and made sure everyone had a plan for Thanksgiving this year. Bitty knows everyone’s class schedule and what kind of foods they’re allergic to and if they’re sick. The kind of stuff Jack, for all that he tries to be a good captain, just isn’t any good at. 

“He’s good for the team,” Jack says. “I’m – glad he’s here.” 

“Does anyone want pie?” Bitty calls from the other end of the table. Everyone groans, clutching at their stomachs and protesting. “Not yet?”

“Give us some time, Bitty!” Nursey whines. “We just ate enough of your cooking to burst our bellies, we need to recover.”

“I think it’s time for some street hockey,” says Ransom, getting to his feet. “Work off all that food, eh?”

“You’re crazy,” Holster says, but he gets up too. “We call Lardo!”

Jack stays back as the rest of them pour outside to the street and helps Bitty gather the plates from the table. “You shouldn’t be cleaning up,” Jack tells him. “You cooked. That’s the rule, right?”

“I don’t mind, Jack, I made the mess technically,” Bitty says. “But it’s sweet of you to help.” He pats Jack’s arm absently. “Don’t listen to Holster, you did a fine job helping me in the kitchen.”

“You shooed me out of there as soon as Dex showed up,” Jack says. 

“Well, I’m not an idiot,” Bitty says, and he laughs at Jack’s expression. 

They’re in the process of putting away all the leftover food when they hear a commotion outside. Bitty frowns, turning to look toward the door, and the front door bursts open, revealing –

“Shitty?” Bitty cries in delight. “I thought you weren’t coming back until tomorrow!”

“Fuck that, I’m here for real Thanksgiving with my real family,” Shitty says. He opens his arms wide. “Now you two should give me a couple big ol’ hugs.”

Bitty flings himself into Shitty’s arms. Jack, following behind him, claps Shitty’s hand and pats him on the back. Lardo comes in behind Shitty, cheeks pink from the cold. 

“Look what the cat dragged in,” she says, slapping Shitty on the shoulder. Shitty grins down at her, helplessly besotted as he always is. Jack is almost embarrassed for him. “Just in time for dessert. Typical.”

“I’ll take some of Bitty’s food, too,” Shitty says, shedding his coat and scarf. “I lost my appetite when the grandparents started in on cousin Hil.”

“I thought Hil was their favorite,” Jack says, startled. 

“Yeah, well, she was until she brought home a girlfriend,” Shitty says. “Let’s not talk about that, okay? Let’s talk about how fine all of you look. Especially you, Bitty, that shirt is killer.”

Shitty boils a huge pot of water for hot chocolate once people come inside, telling Bitty and Lardo about the drive. He seems a little quieter than usual, but then he often seems that way after coming back from the grandparents. He once jokingly asked Jack to come with him just to distract them. Jack said he got enough scrutiny from his own family, thank you very much. 

Bitty has made four pies, two pumpkin, a pecan, and an apple. Shitty takes a slice of each, grinning hugely as he sits down in the living room. Jack lets Lardo sit next to him and takes the armchair with a plate of pumpkin pie in his lap. He watches Bitty and Shitty talk, animated as always, and feels momentarily jealous of how easy Shitty finds it to be friendly and open with people. He eats his pie and excuses himself to bed before everyone else is finished.

He wakes up suddenly a little after midnight, unsure what it is that woke him. The house is completely silent. He rolls over and looks out his window and sees snow falling. Jack smiles. 

Bitty doesn’t answer his first knock. At the second knock, he hears a thump from inside Bitty’s room. A moment later, Bitty yanks the door open and hisses, “Jack Laurent Zimmermann, what on earth do you want at this hour?”

“It’s snowing,” Jack says. 

“I’ll get my coat,” Bitty says. 

The two of them trod out into the empty street, leaving footprints in the fresh snow. Bitty is bundled up as tight as he can get, his hat tugged down low and scarf snug to his chin, but he’s looking at the snow with the same wide-eyed wonder as the year before. Jack loves that look, loves how Bitty is so open and excited about life. He misses that. 

“Wow,” Bitty says, turning his face up to the flakes. He smiles and closes his eyes, sticking his tongue out. 

“What are you doing?” Jack asks, trying not to laugh. 

“Look, we don’t get snow every year in Georgia like y’all do in Canada,” Bitty says without opening his eyes. “I like catching snowflakes on my tongue. You should try it.”

“No, thank you,” Jack says. 

“You made me eat your snow candy last year,” Bitty says. “Catch snowflakes with me.”

Jack sighs and leans his head back to catch flakes on his tongue. They burst into tiny flowers of cold in his mouth, and he laughs despite himself, startled by how it tickles. 

“See?” Bitty asks smugly. “It’s fun.”

They go back inside once they’ve had enough of the cold. Bitty pulls off his hat and scarf, shaking himself off. He looks up at Jack and smiles, saying, “You’ve got snow in your hair.”

“We were out in the snow,” Jack points out as Bitty reaches up to tousle his hair, knocking the flakes loose. “ _Bitty_ –”

Bitty meets his eyes, and Jack forgets what he was planning to say. Bitty’s eyes seem impossibly dark and huge, and there’s melted snow clinging to his eyelashes. Jack’s breathing stutters.

 _Oh_ , he thinks. 

“Jack?” Bitty asks. “Are you okay?”

“Happy Thanksgiving,” says Jack. “We should go to sleep. Have to be ready for the game tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Bitty says, and as if on cue, he yawns. “Gosh, sorry! I’ll see you in the morning, Jack.”

“Good night,” Jack says, and he stands in the entryway to the Haus while Bitty takes the stairs back up to his room. He dusts the snow from his hair and wonders what Bitty would have done if he had brushed the snow from his cheeks.


End file.
